Grab Hold to What I've Got
by theshipsfirstmate
Summary: post 3x17, in which Felicity clarifies who chose who. (Also, Oliver goes back for Roy.)


_A/N: Okay, please be gentle, this is my first fic in nearly a decade? (Good lord, has it been that long since Gilmore Girls? Anyway…) This was just born out of my feeling that the end scene of 3x17 was just a little off, in more ways than one. Un-beta'd, so please forgive any minor flubs, but all feedback welcome. I love this fandom and am super excited/nervous about making my first contribution!_

_(title from "A Long Time Ago" by First Aid Kit which gives me all the Olicity feels.)_

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**Grab Hold to What I've Got**

She's mad at him when he gets back to the Foundry, and at first he thinks it's because he momentarily - momentarily - forgot about Roy laying half-conscious in the alley. It would be fine if she was mad about that, he was mad at himself about that, but he hadn't made it too far, doubling back once his thoughts had cleared a bit, once he could hear anything else in his mind over the other man's words.

_Show Felicity the kind of man you really are._

As if he had spent the last three years doing anything else.

He helps Roy up, and thankfully his sidekick is coherent enough to be able to hold on to his back as they take the bike back to the Foundry. Thea's hanging around upstairs when they walk in and when she rushes over to them, he doesn't think twice about shifting Roy's weight over to her when she reaches out for him in half-embrace, half-support.

He follows the two of them down the stairs, watching his sister run her fingers over Roy's face in tender concern, realizing that _that's_ probably something that he needs to start worrying about again. But there's no time for that once he spots Felicity at her desk, jaw clenched and shoulders set in the way that let's him know she's angry.

He wonders when it is that he got the ability to read her so well, but that detail feels unimportant now, like when he fell in love with her, when she became one of the things that mattered most in his life. Those things are just facts now, irrevocable truths, like the sky being blue.

He's still hopped up on adrenaline from the fight. He should go a few rounds with the dummy or take it out on the salmon ladder, he should do anything except for what he actually does, which is walk over and stand beside her. It's a bit of deja vu, standing there, suit half-unzipped, watching her work furiously. Only this time, he's pretty sure it's not because she's completely wrapped up in what she's doing. This time, he's pretty sure it's because she's actually furious.

"What's wrong, Felicity?" he asks, still not entirely sure he wants to hear the answer.

She's flippant at first, short in a way that let's him know he's onto something, when she dismisses his inquiry with a clipped "Huh? What do you mean?"

She's still not looking at him, still pretending that whatever's on the screen is the reason her fingers are clacking at the keyboard with probably more force than is necessary.

"You know what I mean," he says, leaning in closer, still not even sure why he's forcing the issue. "What's going on?"

She lets him hang there for just a few more seconds, but it feels like hours. Finally she sighs, leaning back, and he wants to take it all back when she meets his eyes. Because she looks sad, heartbroken and disappointed in the same way she did earlier when she was accusing him of not wanting her to be happy.

"I just...I thought we were doing better, you know?"

He blinks twice, wanting to say something. But he honestly doesn't know, doesn't have a clue, in the whole myriad of their issues right now, what she might be referring to.

"With the whole talking and listening to each other…" she trails over, hands moving in circles as she speaks, eyes ducking to avoid his gaze. "I thought we were doing better."

"We were...we are," he says softly, still unsure where this is headed but now very certain he's not going to like the destination.

"You told Ray that I chose him," she says, voice shaking the tiniest bit.

There it is.

Having her in his ear when he's suited up is second nature now, he had forgotten she was listening to their whole exchange. Or maybe he hadn't. It doesn't matter now.

"I told Palmer what he needed to hear, Felicity," he says, taking a deep breath, preparing to brush off another talk about them in favor of pretending it's about the greater good. "He needs to trust you, he needs to know that you…"

But she's not listening.

"You told him that I chose him, and that isn't fair, Oliver," she continues, standing from her chair. She's close, but he knows she won't get any closer. "Because I never had a choice. That was all you, and you know that! I stood right here and I told you that!"

In the corner of his eye, he sees Thea turn to them, eyes widening before Roy takes her arm and guides her back up the stairs. Felicity notices none of it, and when his focus turns back to her, the anger is back.

"I never got to decide how this was going to work, Oliver," she tells him, voice raising now. "You took yourself out of the running! There was no choice to make!"

She's finally yelling at the end of her little rant, but he can't focus because her last few words make his vision blur, his mind remembering needles held to her neck and arrows through the heart and broken windows and blue fingernails holding his hand.

So maybe he can blame The Count a little bit for what happens next. For his feet stepping just the smallest bit forward. For his arm that reaches out to her waist and his hand that cups her chin. For his forehead that touches hers for just a second as he watches her eyes slip shut. For his lips that brush hers, torturously soft at first, before pressing deeper. For his whole body and the way it knows now, in a visceral way, to make the most of every time he touches her, because every time might be the last.

And it's everything, again. Kissing her always is. The way her mouth opens to his, the tiny moan she can't help. The way her nails rake though his hair as she kisses him back. Because, no matter what, she always kisses him back.

It's more than the kiss that they shared in the hospital, the one that meant "hello" and "I love you" and "goodbye" all at once. It's certainly more than the kiss they shared in his dream, before and after blood spilled from his mouth. It's better than both of those, so much better, and then suddenly, it's so much worse. Because her hands move from his hair to his chest and she's shoving him away.

"No, Oliver, stop," she says and the sound of her voice stabs through his stomach.

Palmer. Of course.

"I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't mean it. "You and Ray…"

"Ray and I are nothing," she says, still breathing heavy. "Well, we might be nothing. We might still be partners. We might still be a...something, I'm not even sure, actually."

She laughs a little bit at that, but he knows it's not because anything's funny.

"But that doesn't matter, Oliver," she continues, leveling him with her eyes. "You can't just do this. You can't just kiss me like that and expect something to change."

He knows that, really he does, but mostly he just knows he wants to do it again. And it's definitely the part of his brain that's focused on kissing her again that asks the next question.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Huh?" she asks, distracted. She's looking down, one of her hands touching her mouth lightly and he wonders if she can still feel the kiss like he can, vibrating on his lips like static electricity.

"Kiss you like what?" he asks again, taking another step back towards her, because he is nothing if not self-destructive.

She raises her eyes to meet his and he sees the heat there, just briefly, before it's clouded by sadness.

"Like...like it's everything."

If her pushing him away before was Ra's al Ghul's sword through his stomach, this confession is Malcolm Merlyn's arrow through his chest. His eyes burn like tears are coming, but he can't look away when he answers her.

"You have to know by now, Felicity" he half-whispers, not caring that it sounds almost like he's begging. _Because he is._ "You have to know that it is."

Her eyes fill with real tears, but then she's backing away again, and this time he knows it's for good.

"I know," she says as she turns to leave. "But it's not enough. Because _you_ made a choice."

And then she's gone, heels tapping her way up the metal stairs, each sound like a shot to his heart.

And he's still not thinking clearly, but there's no one else to blame when turns back to her workstation and puts his fist through one of her monitors.

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_A/N: I'm thinking of continuing this, because you KNOW she's gonna be mad about Oliver hurting her babies. Thoughts?_


End file.
